A Broken Hallelujah
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: Huddy. A bit of depression in House after he loses a patient and Cuddy's powerless to help. Which ends up leading into some relationship stuff. Rated M for language, slight situation, and an utter feeling of despair at the end.


**I don't own House M.D. nor the characters. Song fic: I don't own "Hallelujah" (the Rufus Wainwright version) either. Since I just did a fluffy Huddy oneshot, I must have felt the need to counter it with this intense angst. So, enjoy. And be warned. It's immensely angsty. And it's a oneshot.**

* * *

**I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord   
But you don't really care for music, do you?**

His fingers touched lightly on the keys. He was lost in it. Enveloped in sound that connected to a deeper part of himself. There was a mystery in music he couldn't quite figure out. The universality of it. He didn't understand the human connection linked beneath the gentle notes he played.

He closed his eyes, the sound increasing. The clicking of her heels across the tile floor was barely recognizable to him now. He was in a place where she didn't exist. Or, if she did, she was a different person. A person who wore her emotions on her sleeve just so he wouldn't always have to guess.

**Your faith was strong but you needed proof.**

"My patient died today." He doesn't look up from the wooden piano with ivory keys and he doesn't stop playing.

"I heard." She remains behind him, out of his eyeshot.

"You going to yell at me?" His fingers linger above for a moment before he brings them down and continues on with his advanced melody.

She sighs. "Why? Did you do it on purpose?"

His back arches and he pauses in his music, but he doesn't look for her. "And if I did?"

"Don't say that." She takes two more steps down so she can be on the same level as him, but she doesn't approach the piano. "Are you all right?"

"And if I said no?" He thinks about touching the keys and returning to that place, but he waits for her answer.

"We can talk about it." Her eyes are on him. She wants him to confide in her.

He begins to play again and ignores her. She was half expecting it. As she makes her way from the room, she glances back at him sitting with his back to her. For a moment she can understand why he loses himself in his music. For a moment, she can understand why it's so important.

**There was a time you let me know what's really going on below,   
But now you never show it to me, do you?**

"Are you afraid to make a mistake?" She leads the way into her office.

He pauses in the doorway before stepping inside and closing it behind him. "Excuse me?"

"You've been... different." She folds her arms across her chest. "I'm worried-"

"Don't," he cuts her off. "There's nothing to worry about it. I know what I'm doing, Cuddy. That's why you hired me."

"I know," she agrees, "but you've been very cautious recently."

His eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes." She lets out a sigh. "But we both know your risks usually pay off in the long run." Concern crosses quickly over her face. "Are you_ sure_ you're okay?"

"Couldn't be better." He shrugs with his response.

She keeps her eyes locked on him. "Greg, I'm asking you-"

He takes a step forward and speaks brightly. "Actually, no, I'm not okay."

"Okay." She nods and waits for him to continue.

"I'd be a lot better if you'd take your shirt off."

She narrows her eyes at him. "House."

"No? Okay, then. I'll be on my way."

He turns to the door and makes his way out of her office. Her eyes linger on him for a moment before she goes back to her work, the sadness on her face clear to anyone she would be speaking with over the next few hours.

**Remember when I moved in you, the holy dark was moving too  
 And every breath we drew was Hallelujah**

"We shouldn't-"

"Shouldn't what?"

"House."

Her shirt's on the floor and his suit jacket had quickly joined it. He's got her pinned against her closed bedroom door and she can't remember why he showed up at her house. But, as his hands move down her body before cupping her hips, she finds that she doesn't very much care.

When she winds up naked on her bed several minutes later with him on top of her and working away at the spot just behind her earlobe, she wonders what damage this is going to do to them. She lets him continue and doesn't stop him, thinking that perhaps she is wrong and this might makes things better.

He just wants her and he never thought she would go for it. It makes him suspicious and silently question her motives, but sex with Cuddy is always enjoyable (when it rarely occurs) and he really doesn't want to be the one to stop it from happening.

**I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and its a broken Hallelujah**

She's cold when she wakes up. She doesn't quite realize she's naked. She doesn't quite realize she has no blankets. The first thing she realizes are the tears on her face and she wonders if she fell asleep crying.

But, as she sees the sleeping body beside her, she knows she didn't cry while he was still awake. Detaching herself from the bed, the night, him, she makes her way to her dresser and throws on the first item her hands come in contact with. It's a faded Michigan State sweatshirt and she instantly regrets it due to the present company.

She exits the bedroom carefully and the hardwood is cold on her feet as she makes her way into the bathroom. She whips the door closed behind her and doesn't bother to turn on the light. She reaches into the tub and turns the shower head on. The only thing on her mind is a scalding cleansing.

He awakes to a slamming door and for a moment, is disoriented by the pain in his thigh and his current location. Once he recalls the night's events, he calms enough to locate his Vicodin and slip on his pants.

He's aware of the shower running and thinks about leaving, but decides to wait. After all, the night was something different than what he expected. It wasn't like all their random fucking in the past. It was something that disturbed him enough to keep him there.

**Maybe there's a God above and all I ever learned from love   
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you**

"You're still here."

That's all she can manage as she steps into the dark bedroom and pulls at the bottom of her sweatshirt, hoping it's covering her completely. He simply watches her from the bed.

"You're opposing?"

"I just thought you'd be gone by now."

She won't approach him and it's the first thing he notices before he realizes she's just wearing a sweatshirt. And she's shivering.

"What the hell happened between us?"

The strain in his voice, the hoarseness of the night, causes goosebumps to rise over her flesh. She wishes for more clothes, but finds herself still grounded. He wants to go to her, but the embarrassment of limping across the room keeps him grounded as well.

"I don't know," she whispers, but it seems out of place due to the long pause after his words.

"I should go."

He doesn't move.

"Yeah, maybe."

She doesn't make an effort either.

"Seriously, Cuddy, what the hell?"

"We need to grow up." She says it as if it's simple. As if it was something they were both preparing for years in advance.

He thinks this over, but doesn't come up with a wise ass response. He, again, wants to go to her, but doesn't need to as she approaches the bed.

"It's not healthy." She keeps herself at the edge of the mattress, but dares not sit.

"Neither is my Vicodin, or narcissism, or egos, or the tight shirts that flaunt your breasts." He feels safe and back on his own turf with his response.

"Right," she replies sadly.

**And its not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and its a broken Hallelujah**

"I'll go."

This time, he means it and he clutches on to the side table next to the bed as he climbs out of it. He dresses, making sure not to look at her, but aware of the fact that she's moving. When his clothes are on, he finally brings his eyes in her direction.

She has pants on now and her knees are drawn to her chest as she sits against the headboard. Her eyes are not on him, but focused across the room. She's lost in thoughts he wishes she would share with him.

He debates speaking to her. He debates going over there and comforting her. In that moment, he debates a lot of things, but they're all discarded as he leaves her bedroom.

She sees him leave, but it doesn't register right away. She examines her thrown about bed sheets and notes two of her pillows are on the floor. And now that the room suddenly seemed to grow cold, she lowers her head as silent tears spill from her eyes.


End file.
